Part 8: Why Pregnancy Makes You Realise How Precious Life Is… And A Baby Called Roy and Elvis

Naming your baby is an arduous task. It’s highly likely that they will grow up to despise their name and you will get a 50/50 divide on who likes the name you have chosen. Chances are the person who dislikes a name has a neighbour whose aunts cousin is a horrible spotty cretin with a bad attitude, and they have the same name as your baby. Of course, that then makes your child a horrible spotty cretin with a bad attitude, and they aren’t even born yet. Poor sod.

Do you go traditional? Harry, George, Charlotte, Samantha?? Do you opt for a surname that can also be the first name? Spencer, Blake?? Do you go out there? Apple, Space, Autumn…?
We couldn’t agree on any name. Both Beard and I were stumped. We have used the boy’s names we like, and we were not ever expecting to have another little one, so we had never given it any thought. However, when I did find out I was pregnant, we were both convinced (due to morning sickness) that little man was indeed a little girl, so we chose: Layla, Ruby or Violet. Sadly, I do not think we could call our baby boy Layla. Or Violet. Maybe Ruben?
Instead, we decided to ask the boys to write down three names they thought we should name our new arrival. Josh went for Jason, James and Jesse and Finn had moved on from Desmond as he had previously decided (see previous post), and opted for Roy, Dave and Trevor. None of these names made it to the shortlist but temporarily the name ROY stuck. In fact, it stuck with EVERYONE who knew us. No one asked how the pregnancy was going, it was “how’s Roy..?” 
This name may actually be permanent. This poor child will be called Roy for the rest of his life. Baby Roy.

I must admit, it does have a ring to it.

IMG_4576But someone incredibly close to me had other ideas, “it doesn’t matter what you name him, his name is Elvis to me.” 
These were the words of my amazing Nan, fondly known as GP. To clarify, she wasn’t a doctor but was aptly labelled GP after me shouting Granny Perks in the middle of Sainsbury’s at a very young age; she was my rock, my Nan, my beloved GP and sadly she was fading away. Devastatingly, she was always desperate to meet “my new Elvis boy” and knowing it was never going to happen, as she was very slowly drifting away from us, she held onto my hand tight, rubbed my belly like I was some Buddha granting her a wish and uttered, “you call that bloody baby Elvis.”


Obviously, I laugh through eyes streaming. Yet trying to hold back the most amount of sorrow I can ever recollect, I agree. GP has given me so much, if this makes her happy, I’m happy. The baby she just felt kicking is going to be called Elvis.
Knowing it was time to say goodbye, feeling shaky and confused, I almost collapse, but with help from Beard and my cousin, I stagger out of the room, knowing I’ll never see her again.

She won’t ever get to meet Elvis.

And I can’t even explain the feeling of loss when someone you’ve depended on, someone you love, someone you never expect to leave you, leaves you.

After the shock (and of course I’m sugar-coating my grief hugely… that’s a whole blog post on its own) I then had the realisation that I needed to stick to her dying wish, to name the baby she will never get to meet, e.l.v.i.s… I recall phonetically sounding it out, and I can hand on heart say, it makes it no bloody better! ELVIS! WTF! And my other choice that friends have now opted for is ROY!!!

Before my Nan passing away and making her poignant name request, in September, we booked a weekend away coinciding a stunning friend’s gorgeous Cornish wedding. I witnessed the very first time this particular fabulous couple met; in a slightly drunken state in Brixton, throwing some serious shapes on the dance floor that really should be forgotten.

The wedding was spectacular, breathtaking and magical; from the location to the ceremony and everyone was there celebrating (and witnessing first hand) their love for each other. Tears of joy were prickling my eyes as I sat back and watched all become merry and do some REALLY crazy dancing, as well as seeing poignant moments between friends and family. If only your eyes were a shutter of a camera to snapshot every moment I witnessed — the perks of being sober.


After the joys of the wedding, we then got the call to say my Nan was in hospital and to get there as soon as possible. What was a magical weekend ended in chaos. Of course, we rushed back to see her. We said our brief emotional goodbyes (that I push to the back of my mind) and I started to have contractions. But I am 13 weeks from my due date. The whole journey home I reminisced and contemplated how short life is; to witness such a beautiful day with beautiful people, to then be reminded of exactly how precious life is. And here I am, feeling lost with a little life inside me, while two have joined together for eternity, and a precious soul slips away….

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